


Out of the Dark

by CosmicZombie



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Smut, angsty!Arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-23 03:35:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3752995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CosmicZombie/pseuds/CosmicZombie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were stuck in the cupboard, and Merlin’s heart was thumping as though he was waiting for something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of the Dark

 

 

 

The dark is suffocating. Merlin feels as though it’s airless, even although the whole of the tiny space is filled with the sound of their unsteady breathing. His heart is still racing, despite the fact it's now been at least five minutes since they sprinted across the courtyard away from the guards. On some whim Merlin is already beginning to regret, he’d spotted the closet doors just inside the castle and tugged them both inside while they waited for the guards to pass. Only the guards had passed several minutes ago, and they are still stuck inside.

 

Arthur is silent and standing rigidly as far away from Merlin as possible, which is considerably difficult in such a cramped space. He's pressed back against the wall, chest rising and falling unevenly as he stares mutely at the ground, jaw clenched in frustration— but whenever Merlin shifts slightly, he brushes against him and the muscles in Arthur’s jaw jump.

 

“Maybe if—” Merlin begins uncertainly, tugging at door handle again.

 

“What good is _that_ going to do?” Arthur snaps abruptly. He lets out an angry huff of breath and pushes his hair impatiently out of his eyes. In the cramped darkness between them, Merlin can almost feel the anger prickling on Arthur’s skin, and it suddenly feels as though there is even less space. He tries to move away slightly, but only succeeds in brushing his arm against Arthur’s again.

 

“Well, what do you suggest?” Merlin demands, beginning to feel irritated. His muscles are aching from working hard all week as a result of Arthur’s increasingly bad mood, and he feels as though he hasn’t slept properly for weeks.

 

“What is there to suggest, Merlin?” Arthur asks angrily. “We’re locked in a bloody _cupboard_. We’re just going to have to wait until someone finds us.” His voice roughens slightly, and he pushes a weary hand through his blonde hair again, dropping his gaze so that his profile is shadowed.

 

Merlin can see the hard line of his clenched jaw and how Arthur is still braced against the wall as if he’s trying to put as much space between him and Merlin as possible. The thought makes Merlin’s heart clench inexplicably and his whole chest ache as though he’s swallowed a lungful of icy water. Arthur hasn’t been himself for months. Although initially, it had worried Merlin, his concern had gradually morphed into anger at Arthur's cold, distant behaviour and seeming inability to spend more than two minutes alone with Merlin.

 

Only now here they were, the silence deafening between them and Merlin’s heart thumping as though he was waiting for something.

 

 

“It could take hours for someone to find us,” Merlin says mutinously after several moments, shifting slightly against the door and dropping his gaze from Arthur.

 

“Yes, I am perfectly aware of that, _Mer_ lin.” Arthur’s teeth are gritted, and his blue eyes are shadowed and tempestuous in the shadows of the tiny space. He lets out a sigh and tilts his head back so that it’s resting against the wall. Merlin watches the adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallowed.

 

“At least you’re not trapped in an enclosed space with someone who’s going to kill you,” Merlin says mulishly, folding his arms across his chest and leaning back against the door. “Yet,” he adds flatly.

 

He expects Arthur to retaliate sarcastically, but he remains silent, eyes shut as though he’s enduring some ordeal. It’s been the same for weeks; Arthur’s clammed-up, uncharacteristic silence. Merlin had never thought that he could miss someone telling him he was an idiot all the time, but he feels inexplicably lonely, as if he’s been cut off from part of himself.

 

More than ever in the dark, cramped, silence, Merlin wishes that he could just talk to Arthur properly, the way he had for the past two years— but now whenever he does, Arthur just gets this pained expression on his face and makes his excuses to leave or dismisses Merlin. Only now he isn’t able to do either, and he looks as though he’s enduring physical pain, his hands curled into fists at his sides and his jaw set as though he’s about to go into battle.

 

“Arthur?” Merlin appeals, irritation fading into anxiety.

 

“Will you just shut _up_ , Merlin,” Arthur snarls, his blue eyes flashing. He’s breathing shallowly, as though the cupboard feels airless to him too. Merlin can practically feel the anger radiating from his body; the kind of anger that Arthur always seems to be made of when he’s about to go into a life-threatening situation. Only he isn’t in danger now— yet he looks more afraid than Merlin ever can remember seeing him.

 

“I’m sorry, it’s not actually _my_ fault we’re stuck in here, you know,” Merlin retorts half-heartedly. He stares accusingly at Arthur, who is still refusing to meet his gaze. “And I’m sorry to disappoint you, but you can’t actually blame everything that goes wrong on me. Although,” he adds bitterly, “you’ve been doing a pretty good job of it lately.”

 

Arthur’s eyes snap up to meet his for a split second, painfully blue in the shadows of the cupboard— but then he looks away and swallows again, and Merlin feels his heart sink. He can’t stand feeling as though Arthur is blocking him out; it’s as though part of himself is lost. But what’s by far the worst is having to endure Arthur’s increasingly silent, troubled demeanour without knowing what’s causing it and be able to do something to help. It physically hurts Merlin to so often these days catch a glimpse of Arthur looking pale and troubled and as though he hasn’t slept for weeks.

 

“Why don’t you just talk to me any more?” Merlin asks, quietly. The words seem to buzz in the silence of the shadows, and he watches Arthur slowly raise his gaze to look at him with an unreadable expression.

 

For a moment, he thinks that Arthur is going to pass off the last few months’ behaviour in an act of sarcastic bravado— but then Arthur closes his mouth and shakes his head wearily, suddenly looking exhausted. The shadows of the cupboard make the dark circles under his poignantly blue eyes more pronounced than ever, and he looks pale and drawn and serious, older than Merlin had ever seen him.

 

“Arthur?” Merlin repeats, uncertainly. He can feel his heart thumping in his chest.

 

“Don’t, Merlin,” Arthur grits out at last. His voice is quiet and defeated. He runs a hand through his hair and lets out a sigh, eyes flickering to capture Merlin’s momentarily in a fleeting second of _something_ so powerful it feels as though it hits Merlin with a blow, but then it’s gone again and he suddenly feels more in the dark than ever.

 

“Did I do something wrong?” Merlin asks, swallowing. He wants to reach out to Arthur, but he knows Arthur will only hunch away from him and Merlin will feel the distance between them more than ever.

 

Wordlessly, Arthur shakes his head in response and pushes his hair wearily out of his eyes. As he does so, Merlin suddenly catches a glimpse of red in the shadows of the small space.

 

“Arthur, your hand’s bleeding,” he blinks, wincing at the cut on Arthur’s fingers that’s only just visible in the shadows.

  
“It’s nothing,” Arthur says dismissively, his voice flat. He’s staring at the floor.

 

Merlin steps forwards, into Arthur’s space to take his hand and examine the wound— and all of a sudden, Arthur’s expression is a mixture of fear and anger and desperation, and Merlin doesn’t know what to do.

 

“Arthur—”

 

“Don’t. Merlin— don’t.” It’s barely a whisper through the pained clench of Arthur’s jaw. His eyes are wide and serious, his brow furrowed, his jaw rigid as he stares at Merlin, expression completely unreadable. All the arrogant, noble attitude is gone, and it’s just Arthur left. Just Arthur, hunched as far away from Merlin as possible in the shadows. Merlin has seen Arthur lose people he loves; endure painful injuries and betrayal; walk into the hands of certain death— but he isn’t sure he’s ever seen Arthur look quite so lost as he does in that moment.

 

“What am I supposed to do?” Merlin whispers, swallowing and feeling helpless. He raises his gaze to meet Arthur’s unguarded one and feels as though his heart stumbles.

 

“ _Nothing_ ,” Arthur snaps.

 

“Don’t be ridiculous, you’re bleeding,” Merlin appeals anxiously, reaching out and firmly grasping Arthur’s injured hand. For a moment, he feels the familiar lines of warm skin under his fingertips— but then Arthur is wrenching his hand away from Merlin’s touch, expression turbulent.

 

“I’m _fine_ , Merlin,” he hisses, wincing.

 

“You’re an idiot,” Merlin retaliates, scowling. “Let me clean it, Arthur. You’ve got the tournament next week. The last thing you’ll be wanting is to be forced to pull out because of an infected injury you could easily have prevented.”

 

“Alright, _alright_ ,” Arthur lets out the words in an angry huff, shoving his arm towards Merlin. “Just hurry up.”

 

“It’s not like we’re in a rush to go anywhere,” Merlin jokes— but stops short at the sight of Arthur’s unexpectedly anguished expression. Swallowing, Merlin drops his gaze and pulls out the clean cloth and water from his bag. Tentatively, he takes Arthur’s hand in his, feeling the familiar hard lines and warmth of it.

 

He has never understood how someone who had spent their whole life wielding swords and shields didn’t have rough, callused hands— Arthur’s have always been unexpectedly soft. The only reminder of the weight of responsibility he holds is the faint lines of scars.

 

Arthur is silent as Merlin inspects the small wound, as if he’s holding his breath— but Merlin doesn’t dare look up. The cut isn’t deep; just a clean scratch than runs from the knuckle of his little finger down to his wrist, shedding blood across the white scars which already peppered Arthur’s skin. They were the softest of all— new skin that never seemed to lose its innocence.

 

Gingerly, Merlin dips the cloth into the water and gently dabs away the blood, tightening his grip around Arthur’s wrist to hold the hand in place. Above him, he faintly hears Arthur suck in a breath that seems to take away all of the oxygen in the tiny room. Anxiously, Merlin looks up.

 

“I hurting you?” he asks worriedly, hands stilling on Arthur’s skin.

 

“I think I’ve endured worse injuries than this,” Arthur replies tightly, rolling his eyes— but he looks uncomfortable. “Just get on with it.” It’s the kind of thing that Arthur usually seems to intend to sound commanding— but now it sounds more like a plea than an order. His bottom lip is trapped between his teeth, as though he is enduring pain, and his eyes are tempestuous— but he doesn’t flinch when Merlin returns cautiously to his ministrations, watching Arthur anxiously for signs of discomfort.

 

“Stop _staring_ at me, Merlin,” Arthur snaps after a moment, his eyes painfully blue, even in the shadows of the cramped space. They had always reminded Merlin of the sky when it was turning from day to night and was indecisively neither, yet both, and better all at once. Getting caught by Arthur’s gaze was like staring at the sky too— when you’re unable to think of anything but the vast blueness and feel humbled by it.

 

“Sorry,” Merlin says, and drops his gaze back to the wound on Arthur’s hand. His heart is racing in his chest, and he feels somehow as he’s holding his breath too now.

 

There’s a heavy silence as Merlin carefully dabs the blood away and begins to wash dirt from the wound. As he does so, he’s unable not to notice the way that Arthur’s pulse is fluttering away unevenly under Merlin’s grasp around his wrist.

 

“Are you nearly done with that?” Arthur asks tightly, eyes fixed on the floor and decidedly avoiding Merlin’s.

 

Swallowing, Merlin nods— then remembers Arthur isn’t looking at him, and mumbles “almost,” before returning to his ministrations. The cut just skims the edge of Arthur’s deepest scar; the one he’d obtained from training when he was nine years old. Merlin remembers asking about it all those months ago, and it suddenly feels like years since Arthur had told him anything.

 

Gently, Merlin dabs at the last of the blood and looks up. “Done,” he says quietly, his grasp lingering round Arthur’s wrist where the pulse is still fluttering agitatedly under the pale skin.

 

Arthur nods curtly and disentangles his hand from Merlin’s grasp, leaving Merlin’s hand feeling cold and empty.

 

“Thank you,” Arthur says stiffly as Merlin straightens up. His blue gaze flickers to Merlin’s face briefly, and something washes over it that makes Merlin’s heart flutter inexplicably behind his ribs and his breath catch in his lungs. He feels as though Arthur could just see the magic with this look.

 

“What?” Merlin asks self-consciously, when Arthur doesn’t look away.

 

“I— you’ve got mud on your cheek,” Arthur murmurs flatly.

 

It’s an expression Merlin’s never seen on Arthur’s face before. It’s suddenly tender and overwhelmed and full of something that Merlin can’t quite put into words. Then Arthur reaches out, eyes serious and brow furrowed as he smudges his thumb unexpectedly softly across Merlin’s cheekbone. Merlin freezes at the contact, staring at Arthur with his heart suddenly feeling as though it was as suffocated in his chest as they were in this tiny room with not enough air for secrets.

 

Arthur visibly swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat— but he doesn’t move his hand. His thumb is soft and warm against Merlin’s cheek.

 

“Arthur,” Merlin says, quiet. He feels as though Arthur can hear how fast his heart is beating in the darkness of the cupboard.

 

Arthur’s hand is frozen where his thumb grazes Merlin’s cheekbone. Merlin can feel the tremble of his breath in the gap between them, and smell the heady, familiar smell that’s partly mead and partly sweat from running across the castle and partly just _Arthur_ , the scent that Merlin smells whenever he’s dressing Arthur in the morning or washing his bed linen or when he just stands too close, which is simultaneously too close and infinitely never close enough.

 

“There,” Arthur says solemnly, more quietly than Merlin has ever heard him. He drops his piercingly blue gaze, but his thumb still rests against Merlin’s cheek, warm and steady in contrast to the uneven rise and fall of Arthur’s chest.

 

Merlin feels as though his heart has never beat faster in his life. Tentatively, he moves infinitesimally closer, feeling Arthur let out a shaky breath as he does so. His eyes are anguished, his jaw clenched into a hard, serious line— but he still doesn’t move. Merlin can see the muscle in his temple jumping as he smudges his thumb across the spot on Merlin’s cheekbone again. Merlin leans into the touch slightly, heart in his throat as Arthur’s thumb gently grazes back and forward over the skin.

 

“Merlin.” Arthur’s voice is hoarse and unsteady, lost. He looks up again, and the blue of his eyes is stormy and blown into helpless, black pupils. Merlin’s breath hitches in his chest as he feels Arthur’s hand slide slowly up his cheekbone to tuck a lock of hair behind Merlin’s ear. He can feel the warmth of Arthur’s fingers curled against his neck, and lets out his breath all in a rush, heart thumping with longing.

 

Arthur’s fingers slid down to cup Merlin’s jaw, and Merlin lets out a trembling breath and shifts subtly closer, until his forehead rests against Arthur’s. A half-anguished, half-desperate sound escapes from Arthur’s lips, and his grip on Merlin’s jaw tightens, his breath hot and shallow in the small space between their mouths.

 

“Merlin,” he whispers brokenly, almost inaudibly this time. They’re so close that Merlin can feel the pressure of Arthur’s nose pressed against his and the warmth of his unsteady breaths in the tiny space left between him. Merlin feels dizzy with the warmth of Arthur’s fingers against his jaw and the intoxicating scent of Arthur so close to him with everything Merlin’s wanted for so long, but has never even let himself consider. His heart is beating so fast it hurts as he shifts slightly against Arthur and feels Arthur’s eyes flutter shut even though his brow is furrowed and his jaw is still set into a hard, anguished line.

 

Slowly, tremblingly, Merlin tilts his head and presses his lips so lightly against Arthur’s mouth that he can barely feel them touch. He’s barely pulled back before Arthur’s hands are suddenly round his waist, crushing Merlin against him as their mouths collide in a desperate kiss. And then Arthur’s hands are everywhere, cupping Merlin’s jaw, tangling in his hair, round his waist, gripping his biceps and tugging him so close that their noses are mashed together as they kiss fiercely. His breath is coming in unsteady, hot gasps against Merlin’s lips, and Merlin can feel the way his heart is thudding in his chest from where they’re pressed together, like he’s wanted this forever; like he’s wanted this as long as Merlin has.

 

Arthur tangles his hands in Merlin’s hair and angles his jaw to deepen the kiss. Merlin’s eyes flutter open as his back hits the wall— but Arthur’s are screwed shut, as though he’s at war with himself as he kisses Merlin like their lives depend on it.

 

“Arthur…” Merlin gasps between kisses, heart racing, gulping for air.

 

Arthur doesn’t say anything, just nudges against Merlin’s neck and begins to suck at the exposed skin just under Merlin’s adam’s apple, making Merlin clutch him closer and tilt his head back, feeling it hit the wall. Arthur’s breath is hot against Merlin’s wet and bruised skin as he mouths his way desperately down Merlin’s neck to suck at his collar bone, hands sliding under Merlin’s shirt and tugging him closer still, fingers digging possessively into the grooves of Merlin’s spine.

 

Arthur’s blonde hair is ruffled and tickling Merlin’s cheek, smelling of the lavender and patchouli Merlin remembers putting in his bath this morning, and Merlin’s heart suddenly aches in his chest. He tugs Arthur closer, and Arthur leans up and crushes his mouth against Merlin’s again, soft and fierce and uncertain all at once, and Merlin tangles his hands in Arthur’s hair and loses himself in the soft, hot wetness of Arthur’s mouth. He feels rather than hears Arthur’s groan as he slides his hands up under Arthur’s shirt, feeling hot, smooth skin and hard muscle. Arthur promptly bites down on Merlin’s lip and kisses him harder, his hips bucking forward to meet Merlin’s.

 

They both gasp at the contact, pleasure shooting through Merlin’s groin at the feel of Arthur’s hardness against his own. Arthur is sucking urgently at Merlin’s neck again, his hot mouth bruising Merlin’s skin as they rock together, breathing unsteadily in uneven gasps and choked sounds. Merlin has Arthur’s arms round him and his mouth on his neck, his breath hot against his skin— but it’s still not close enough. It’s all too much and not quite enough— just like Arthur.

 

Merlin stifles a moan as Arthur leans his forehead against Merlin’s collar bone, breath hot against his skin, as his hands trace the bumps of Merlin’s spine all the way round to the front of his breeches, fingers stroking the sensitive skin there.

 

“You want me…” Arthur murmurs almost inaudibly against Merlin’s collar bone. Merlin can feel the words against his skin, and moves forward, nudging against Arthur’s bowed head and breathing shallowly. Arthur looks up, eyes wide and blown and unreadable, and Merlin leans forward and softly catches Arthur’s lips with his, sliding his tongue into his mouth and feeling Arthur’s arms wrap round his waist fiercely, pulling him deeply into the kiss. This time it’s slower, deeper, and Merlin feels dizzy from the intensity of it when they finally pull apart, gasping for air.

 

“You… want me…” Arthur whispers again wonderingly, mouthing his way down Merlin’s neck as Merlin grinds up against him. Arthur’s grip trembles on Merlin’s hips, and his breath hitches in his throat. Then everything gets a bit blurry as he pushes Merlin up against the wall and they kiss slowly and deeply in a way that makes Merlin feel as though his heart will stop. When Arthur’s hand slips under the waistband of Merlin’s breeches Merlin chokes back a groan, and buries his head in Arthur’s shoulder, smelling patchouli and skin and sweat and _Arthur_.

 

Arthur’s lips are against his neck, and his hand curls hesitantly around Merlin’s hard cock. Merlin chokes out a gasp into the crook of Arthur’s neck and tilts his head up to capture Arthur’s lips in a kiss. Their kissing becomes more fragmented as Arthur begins to pump his hand up and down, tentative at first, until and Merlin fumbles with his breeches to do the same.

 

The skin underneath Arthur’s breeches is hot and hard, and Merlin kisses his way down Arthur’s neck to where it meets his collar bone and begins to suck gently as he moves his hand. He feels Arthur’s urgent groan resonate in his chest as he grinds up against Merlin, his hands coming to tangle in Merlin’s hair as he muffles his moans by biting down on Merlin’s shoulder. And then Arthur’s hands are everywhere, touching, stroking, fumbling, and his mouth is on Merlin’s neck again and his breath coming in shaky gasps against the skin there. His hands hold Merlin almost painfully tightly as they rock breathlessly together in a jumble of fumbling hands and groans and half-finished kisses.

 

It’s urgent and wonderful, and Merlin can’t catch his breath. The pleasure is building slowly in his cock as Arthur pumps has hand faster, matching Merlin’s rhythm on his own cock. Sparks of pleasure shoot up Merlin’s spine and he groans, tipping his head back so that it hits the wall behind him and Arthur mouths hotly at his neck again, where Merlin knows he’ll be able to feel the way his pulse is racing. But he can feel the way that Arthur’s heart is hammering in his chest, and it’s glorious to watch Arthur slowly coming undone. His jaw isn’t clenched in anguish anymore; it’s slack and his mouth is slightly open as he looks at Merlin, their hands moving in unison.

 

Merlin’s always thought that Arthur is beautiful, but he’s never looked more so Merlin than he does in that moment, completely unguarded with swollen red lips and flushed cheeks and ruffled blonde hair and wild blue eyes that are all pupil. Arthur rubs his thumb over the head of Merlin’s cock, and that combined with how undone Arthur looks is enough to tip Merlin over the edge, and then he’s gasping out and coming into Arthur’s hand, overcome with the longing that’s consumed him for years.

 

Arthur breathes hoarsely into Merlin’s neck, his blonde hair tousled and tickling Merlin’s chin as Merlin rides it out. He breathes in the intoxicating scent as he continues to pump Arthur’s cock, gently kissing and mouthing at his neck.

 

“Merlin,” Arthur breathes brokenly as he comes, fingers knotted in Merlin’s hair. His blue eyes are all pupil, his lips swollen and red, the colour standing out high on his pale cheeks, and his blonde hair tousled as he stares at Merlin, breathing heavily. The silence suddenly seems to press heavily between them, and the tiny gap between them feels cold and uncomfortable.

 

Arthur swallows, stepping back slightly from Merlin’s grasp. His jaw is set into a hard line, and his chest is still rising and falling rapidly as he looks at Merlin.

 

“Merlin— I—” Arthur starts, his voice hoarse.

 

Tentatively, Merlin leans forwards and presses his lips softly against Arthur’s. When he draws back, the hard, anguished set of Arthur’s jaw has softened slightly, so Merlin does it again, and again, until there’s a tiny smile playing across Arthur’s lips and he finally lets Merlin pull him close, sighing against Merlin's neck. 

 

And for once it’s not too much or not quite enough. In the cramped darkness of the cupboard with the feel of Arthur breathing warmly against his neck and his arms round Merlin's waist, for the first time, Merlin feels as though it’s just right.

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually my first venture into Merthur fanfiction, so I very much hope it was okay. I'd absolutely love to know if it was alright, as I've never written either of their characters before, so I'm a little anxious about posting this. Thanks for reading; I hope you enjoyed! Also, Shannon is totally to blame for this.


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